


The Empty Hook

by PatPrecieux



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Time, M/M, Sexual Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-28
Updated: 2017-06-28
Packaged: 2018-11-20 00:49:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11325219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PatPrecieux/pseuds/PatPrecieux
Summary: Flatmates have to expect miscommunication sometimes, especially Sherlock and John.





	The Empty Hook

**Author's Note:**

> John has company. It's all fine.

"The Bawdy Lady" wasn't one of John's regular locals. Down a narrow lane in a wild section of So-Ho, it didn't even really appeal. But he was tired and thirsty and less than pleased at having been sent on yet another useless trip across London by bloody Sherlock Holmes.

 

John had insisted, correctly, that the information he sought could have been gotten over the phone. THAT wasn't good enough for His Highness. So here John sat, a long tube journey or expensive cab ride from Baker Street and Sherlock off God only knows where.

 

He was fairly well buzzed when the woman slid into the spot beside him and chatted him up. Not even trying to pull, John was surprised and a bit chuffed by the attention. It wasn't until he asked her to dance that he noticed, in her heels, she was taller than Sherlock. Well fine, she could just tuck him under HER chin.

 

Later, John would have to admit, he was a little woozy when she basically planted his face between her enormous breasts. They were soft, smelled good and he didn't resist. By the time he discovered her name, Maudie, which triggered a fit of giggles because "Bawdy Maudie", they were in a cab headed to 221. He was fairly sure they would be alone as Sherlock hadn't texted, and if not, John couldn't be arsed to care.

 

Stumbling up the stairs to the flat, he took a closer look at his companion. Alright, so her blonde hair color and breast size almost never occured in nature, (her eyebrows were almost black and John had seen smaller watermelons), but it was her eyes. Christ! Were those animal eyes? Yep, some weird contacts no doubt, but he could do weird, weird could be good. Maybe. Besides, he'd been living with Sherlock for a long, mostly dry eight months and he was almost horny enough to sleep with a serial killer.

 

Thinking of his uni days where a sock or tie on the door was a warning to beware of company inside, John was relieved to see the empty hook where The Belstaff always hung in pride of place. He was glad their "signal" was something John never needed to share. Sherlock wouldn't understand the concept, much less heed it. Simple, then- no coat, no consulting detective. Cheers!

 

***~~~***

 

The night had passed well enough. Three Continents Watson always delivered in bed, and the Captain had certainly accomplished his mission last night. He wasn't proud of having been so drunk, but it proved to be a blessing when Maudie began a litany of raucous laughter, and obscenely dirty talk that even a military man would envy, all wrapped in a Cockney accent thick enough to drown in.

 

Funny, John thought, he'd not really noticed her clothes before now. The cold hard light of day was not kind to either of them. Maudie, while close to Sherlock's age, wore the signs of a less than easy life. Her red leather mini skirt had seen better days, her low cut top (low cut was putting it mildly, and no bra) was almost see through and covered in picks and snags. And good Lord, faux leopard skin shoes. God, seeing her this morning gave a whole new meaning to blind drunk.

 

Catching his reflection in the mirror, John scolded himself. He was no prize- bloodshot eyes, wild hair, scruffy stubble and skin a rather sickly grey-green color. "Shame on you Watson", his conscience hissed, "she's a nice enough woman and was good natured and kind." Still, he was glad to see the Belstaff still absent and the awkward goodbye close at hand.

 

Intent on helping Maudie slip into her Purple Sequined Jacket, (he was NEVER drinking again), John ignored his surroundings until the familiar baritone rumbled from the kitchen, "Good morning Doctor Watson, I don't believe I've had the pleasure of meeting your 'friend'."

 

John literally jumped in the air. "Shit Sherlock give a man an infarction why don't you!" This was bad and was about to get worse.

 

"Oh Johnny, this must be the flatmate. Allo, ducks aren't you the tasty looking morsel. Dinn't tell me he were so sexy Johnny but then ya dinn't tell me ya was a doctor neither. Gonna charge me for an examination Captain?" Her laugh split the air like thunder and John was sure his eyeballs had just fallen out of his head and rolled across the floor.

 

Unable to look away, John had seen a brief scowl cross the detective's face at Maudie using the term Captain, but it was quickly replaced by a feral grin. "Delighted Maudie, please call me Sherlock."

 

"Sherlock is it? My my, posh innit Johnny, real class. Oy Lockie, don't know as how I'd fancy one a those infarction things Johnny asked for but I'd murder for a cuppa."

 

"I have no doubt Maudie. John I believe we are currently out of infarctions until you do the shopping but will tea do? Splendid!"

 

Maudie plopped into a kitchen chair and began filing her nails, "Lovely place you got here boys, a lady could get used to this."

 

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, "I'm sure a lady could."

 

Fists clenched, John growled in a pale ear, "Behave! How is it you're here anyway?"

 

"I live here John. A fact that your alcohol addled brain seemed to have deleted last night. You had merely to see and observe."

 

"I bloody well did, and your coat wasn't on the hook."

 

"My coat is gone ergo I am as well? Is that your theory? If so, your research is sorely lacking. I can, in fact, be in residence despite the absence of my Belstaff. How did you come to posit this fascinating theory pray tell?"

 

"Dammit Sherlock it's what flatmates do, a tie on the doorknob, a sock on the bannister." His tirade was met with a blank look. "You have no idea what I'm on about do you?"

 

"That should be obvious by now. As to my coat, it met with a rather unfortunate encounter with a skip and is being "fumigated" as we speak. Let me assure you, I CAN be here without my coat. Your "colorful" bedroom performance last night being burned into my Mind Palace should be ample proof of that."

 

"Oy posh boy, near death here waitin' for that cuppa."

 

"Apologies Maudie, here you are."

 

Without a care, she reached across the table to grab the sugar causing both of her breasts to pop out of her top landing on the wood surface with a splat reminiscent of raw meat hitting a butcher's block. Unaffected, she sat back restoring her treasure chest to it's rightful place.

 

For the next few minutes, Sherlock amused himself by creating situations causing Maudie to repeat the impromptu striptease while John's blood pressure rose to dangerous levels.

 

Slurping her tea loudly, Maudie flirted with Sherlock without shame. "Thought maybe Johnny and I would spend the day, maybe you want ta join in gorgeous? Waddya say Johnny?"

 

John nearly choked, "So sorry Maudie, lots of double shifts at my clinic these next few days, ah weeks really."

 

"No worries love, reckon you're too classy for me at any rate. Shame though. You know Lockie," she winked, "this one's a real bad arse in the sack. Cor, he can do things with his tongue that'd curl your hair."

 

Deadly serious, Sherlock nodded. "That may be. However, as my hair is quite curly now, I shall simply need to accept your word on the matter."

 

By this point, John was desperate to either escape or stick his head in the oven. Somehow, he eventually managed to escort his "date" out of the flat and into a cab. Marching back inside he prepared himself for battle.

 

"Oh Johnny, did you get an address to send Maudie her honorarium?"

 

"Fuck off berk! It wasn't like that. She isn't a...I didn't pay... just piss off."

 

"Excuse me, but charming as she may be, Maudie is not your typical, ah, companion." It was said almost with tenderness, almost.

 

Suddenly overwhelmed by fatigue and the sledgehammer wielding little demons inside his skull, John groaned. "She isn't a bad sort, but honestly, I don't know what I was thinking."

 

At that Sherlock had to smirk, "I don't believe your brain was involved John. I suspect baser instincts were involved."

 

"Just drink your tea git. I'm going to shower, brush my teeth with bleach and go to work."

 

"John, bleach is not really a wise..."

 

"Shut up Sherlock!"

 

***~~~***

 

The entire day had been a nightmare filled with out of sorts staff, computer problems and entirely too many puking, pooping kiddies. Besides that, John couldn't forget the morning disaster. He was sure he had been more embarrassed, he just couldn't remember when. "Please God", he sighed, sinking into a seat on the tube, "let the hook be empty when I get home."

 

Unfortunately, not only was the hook adorned with the Belstaff, but virtually every surface in the flat was covered with what must have been Sherlock's entire wardrobe. Shirts, trousers, pants, socks, shoes, even a tie. Since when did Sherlock own a tie?

 

Too stunned to be angry, John called out, "Sherlock where are you?"

 

"In the bedroom John, come in."

 

Pushing the door open, John was surprised to find the detective face down under the duvet. "You all right?" A yes nod followed. "Then what's the idea of the new interior design?"

 

"I've been reliably informed, THAT is the accepted way to alert one's flatmate to one's presence. Therefore, I am here."

 

John had to laugh, "I see that tosser. So you, ah, coming out?"

 

"I was rather hoping you would come in instead Johnny." With that, Sherlock shimmied up until the duvet slipped down revealing his very naked, very plush backside.

 

"Sherlock! What are you doing?!"

 

"You seemed fascinated with Maudie's big reveal this morning. So, while I cannot lay claim to spectacular mammary glands, I've been told this portion of my anatomy has merit. What do you think, ducks?"

 

"I think, I want to find and throttle whoever has been talking about your arse."

 

"Take a care Doctor, Mummy can be quite monstrous in a scrap."

 

"Your Mother. You meant your Mother? I just assumed..."

 

"You know what they say about those who assume."

 

"Of course you'd know that, madman."

 

"Oy, ducks, don't mean to rush you but my bits are getting quite chilled. Do I cover up or are you going to try to pull?"

 

John stripped in record time. "Pull, push, plug and plunder posh boy. I'll teach you not to flash your bits about this flat, and you'll bloody well like it."

 

"No doubt, but what about your bits John? Another one night stand? Tea in the morning and then a cab?"

 

"Only if my gorgeous boyfriend is drinking and riding with me. Now let's see if I can fuck a Cockney accent out of you ducks."

 

As it happens, Cockney was not as easily mastered as French by William Sherlock Scott Holmes, and he had no clue as to where the dirty talk John had wrung from his posh toes on up had come from. Mummy Holmes had NOT taught him that. What he did know was that he had been well and truly fucked, in the best possible way.

 

Curled around John like English ivy, Sherlock stretched and purred like a sultry cat. "John, I was wondering?"

 

A soft kiss to messy curls, "What beautiful?"

 

"Are there other flatmate behaviors I should learn, perhaps replace the milk, don't put a dead shark in the bathtub, don't burn the sitting room down?"

 

"Possibly Sherlock. All sensible suggestions. You interested in further education, then?"

 

Claiming John's mouth in a deep, filthy kiss, Sherlock whispered,."If needs must. After all , Johnny, who knew so much invaluable knowledge could be gained by something as simple as an empty hook."

**Author's Note:**

> Never assume. It makes an ass out of you and me. ;)


End file.
